


It Ebbs In Waves

by mrdisciple



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Grief/Mourning, spoilers for episode: s02e06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 08:15:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1772041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrdisciple/pseuds/mrdisciple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was no way he could have known that Amy Dyer would be murdered. Dead for the second time. The word constantly echoes in Philip's ears, dead.</p>
<p>Philip's experiences of grief before and after Amy's funeral.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Ebbs In Waves

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever piece of fan fiction!  
> It's a bit of a drabble really, I just felt compelled to write after the series finale. I'm not sure if it's purely miserable or nonsensical, or plain boring. Tell me what you think, criticism welcome!  
> Oh, and this is unbeta'd therefore if you spot any grammatical mistakes /please/ let me know!

It might seem strange given the circumstances, but Philip had never really experienced grief before. He was sad when he heard that Rick Macy had been killed in Afghanistan, it was tragic when Kieren Walker had chosen to die. He and the boys had hung out a few times before, but Philip never really became close to any of the other kids in the village. Philip remembers those weeks well, the whole village felt quiet and mournful. Then, of course, was the Rising. It was truly terrifying, and Philip didn't feel safe for years, but he came away unscathed.

Throughout his life, it had always just been him and his mum. With a dad never in the picture and no other family apart from his grandparents, whom are still alive today, Philip did not know what a true loss felt like. That was, until the twelfth of December.

Amy Dyer was like no-one Philip had ever encountered before. She was charismatic, brave, independent, funny, beautiful. Amy Dyer was the most beautiful woman in the village; in the country! Philip was sure of it, and he was besotted since the day she entered the Legion bare faced and proud.

After their 'night' together the first time, Philip sort of panicked. He remembers exactly what he'd said to Amy. _If word got out, I'd lose my job...Oh Jesus, there'd be hell to pay_. That's what he said to her, and even worse, _Keep your mouth shut. People round here found out I slept with a rotter I’d be strung up_. The thought of those words leaving his mouth makes Philip sick to the core. How could he have taken Amy so for granted, as if she were a shameful secret? Of course, there was no way he could have known then.

No way he could have known that Amy Dyer would be murdered. Dead for the second time. The word constantly echoes in Philip's ears, _dead_.

It took a couple of hours after the events at the surgery before the true realisation set in, after the trauma and unconscious denial subsided. The grief hit Philip like a hot iron on the chest, red hot and painful, sinking into his core. Philip glanced at the small, soft tiger he'd won for Amy, perched gently on his bedside table. His mother, Shirley, must have put it there.

A weak, choked noise escaped this throat. Sore eyes brimming with tears. Philip grabbed the tiger sharply and hurled it across the bedroom. Immediately he feels guilty, but Philip can't bring himself to pick it up again. He laughs emptily at himself. Shirley pokes her head around the bedroom door and offers Philip a gentle,

"Son?", before his eyes are spilling, he folds into Shirley's arms, and the pain ebbs in waves.

The days before the funeral are quick and forgettable. Kieren visits, once, to talk about Amy's will for a 'totally cool send-off'. Philip's gut flips as he thinks of the night in the tent. The night before.

The day comes. It's cold and raining, but Philip thinks maybe Amy would have liked that. He remembers the sound of pure relief as the rain dribbled down Amy's cheeks. _I can feel it! I can feel the rain! I can feel it, Philip!_

There's a decent turn out. Everyone is wearing a selection of vintage outfits and beautiful flowers on their lapels. Some of the guests are chatting, trying to stay upbeat as Amy had wished. Philip feels lost, out of body. Amy's coffin is made out of rough wood, painted in swirling pink flowers, by Kieren no doubt. It is being lowered into the ground, and Philip's throat feels thick and swollen. Images of Amy's bleeding chest and still body laid upon the examining table scratch behind his eyes. It hurts.

An overwhelming sense of guilt blooms in Philip's stomach. It creeps through every nerve and settles deep within his bones. People have begun to drop special items into the grave, and it's Philip's turn. Numbly, without thought, he steps forward and extends out his arm. The soft toy tiger is gripped tightly in his fist. He wants to give it to Amy. That's why he won it for her. Philip tries to let go of the keepsake, he wants to but he can't. Not like this.

 

Philip doesn't go to the wake at the Walker's. He doesn't want to socialise, he's never been good at it anyway. Instead, Philip finds himself planted at the foot of the newly filled grave. He decided to leave, eventually; resigned. His mum will be worried soon. Carefully, he gives Amy the tiger, sitting it upright before turning away.

A small sound from behind him sparks a bright, burning flicker of hope- he whips around, eyes darting to the soft soil. The tiger has fallen in the wind.

***

It's been a few months now. It's gotten easier. Not easy, but easier. Now it's mostly regret that echoes in Philip's ears. Regret that he pushed Amy away, regret that he ever trusted Maxine, regret that their time was so short.

Shirley tells Philip there's no good in dwelling on what could have been, and he knows that. Each day, he tells Amy about his morning or about the newest tiff between Gary and Simon at the Legion, or the pretty dress he saw at the church jumble sale that reminded him of her. Each day, when the regret and grief softly blossoms as he perches by the headstone, Philip remembers the carefully chosen words:

_'Tis better to have loved and lost,_

_Than never to have loved at all._


End file.
